


In This Life

by zucchinis (bc_bread)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Minor Original Character(s), Modern Character in Thedas, Original Character(s), Slow Burn, also because not being able to romance leliana again is a TRAVESTY, also featuring lesbian elsa from frozen, cause disney needs to get their shit together and give elsa the girlfriend she deserves, i demand one for leliana, if liara and shep can have a trilogy spanning romance, my take on the whole modern person in thedas trope
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 09:35:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29806440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bc_bread/pseuds/zucchinis
Summary: Cursed by a witch in her own time, the traveller is bound to relive tales that are not her own as punishment for her arrogance. In her true home, her clan is the last of humanity on a dying Earth. And she, as a Vessel, is tasked with carrying their stories as warnings for the future.In this lifetime, she awakes in a world with a large green tear in the sky. Emboldened to help, she slowly finds her way into the Inquisition - and into a certain Spymaster's heart.
Relationships: Female Adaar/Josephine Montilyet, Female Inquisitor/Josephine Montilyet, Leliana (Dragon Age)/Original Female Character(s), Past Elsa (Frozen)/ Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 14





	In This Life

**Author's Note:**

> Had to post this because otherwise I will never finish it. If you're new to my writing, this will not be news. But enjoy this wild take on the whole OC in Thedas schtick. 
> 
> As always, un-beta'ed and unedited. Any feedback welcome.

She wakes up in a world much like her own. Magic. Humans. War. 

(Always war.) 

(She has lived countless lives, and wonders why in each, the beings live to destroy themselves.) 

In this world - Thedas - there are mages and templars, darkspawn and what they call the Blight. The Circle of Magi and the Templar Order; institutions that were created to serve and protect, but crumbled under their own rot of corruption and politics. The Chantry and the Maker and Old Gods. Dragons and giants and other things she has no frame of reference for. 

But always, there is hope. 

\- - - - - 

She wakes up in this world with a story in her head, the details fresh and vivid, clear to her in a way most things weren’t. In the small hut she had been blessed with, she writes it out - a habit she has cultivated through countless lives relived. The story was power. The story gave her a chance to help - or to stay away. And writing it down while she still remembered every piece of it was the only way she could preserve it. 

(In the beginning, she had been overwhelmed - gotten caught up in the ifs and whys and what could have beens.) 

(Now she knows she must remain as precise as she could be to retain coherence - if the story was coloured by her own perspective now she would have trouble establishing the truth of these characters.) 

(She knew there would be time to gain perspective on these events, these people.) 

(If she decided to pursue this story to its ending.)

When she finished, the sun had long set, and the candles she had lit had melted into their pots. A morbid altar of sorts, to the story that lay amongst it. 

This one was long, she reflected. Long, and with many possibilities. 

But it was done. And as she set the papers carefully aside to be bound on the morrow, she knew she could not turn away. 

For if the Inquisitor failed in their task, there would be hell to pay. 

\- - - - - 

Thedas felt like home to her in a short period of time. She had adapted quickly, as she always did, making plans and backups in case her best case scenarios failed. Her first step, she reasoned, was to place herself in a position that would allow her access to the Inquisitor’s side. Perhaps the Inner Circle would be best, but she had grown weary of battle and killing. 

(Once, when she was just a young girl living in the midst of one of the oldest forests she had ever seen, in all the worlds she’d been to - )

(Once, she had been unable to fathom killing a butterfly, let alone another being.)

So she had marched her way to the Conclave, leaving behind her little hut near Redcliffe with nothing more than a change of clothes and the crudely bound book containing the story, sealed with wax and bound in ram leather. She was early, she’d realised with some relief. The Inquisitor’s story had not yet begun. But already the mage and templar conflict had reached the lands around the village, and she treaded carefully through the unfamiliar land, her daggers close at hand. 

A pleasant introduction and a fake identity as another refugee was usually enough to warn people away, and she was always grateful when there was a chance to trade for supplies and stories. No need for trouble here, serrah. She was nothing but a simple farmer from Redcliffe, looking for some safety after the conflict razed their lord’s fields. 

(Sometimes, she wondered if the masks were becoming too easy to put on -) 

(Wondered if one day she would look back at herself and cease to recognise the person staring back at her.) 

It took two weeks to reach the village known as Haven. At the foot of the Frostback Mountains, she marvelled at the way the Chantry building sat like a watcher over the lands around it; lush and untainted by neglect and exploitation. 

(Her true world had borne the scars well, attempted to hide them amongst violent attempts to heal the earth -) 

(But it had never truly been able to hide the decay, not from those who had been trained to read the natural world.) 

The small village was abuzz with activity; soldiers and workers rushing around in an efficient manner, completing the necessary tasks that were required to facilitate the meeting of the Chantry’s highest level of authority, alongside the leaders of the mage and templar organisations. There was much she still did not understand about this place, and the event that was soon to occur. But the idea of the attempt at a brokering of peace was a good one. 

She had been there four days when she first saw one of the major characters of the story.

(Well, her and her companions.) 

Bright red hair, gloved hands, a stern line to her mouth that made the rest of her seem cold. Leliana, she presumed. The Left Hand of the Divine was at the latter’s side, in the middle of a large retinue of soldiers donning the Chantry’s symbol. Amongst the crowd of people eagerly welcoming the march’s approach by the gates of this pilgrim town, she observes the way the Spymaster has her head tilted in conversation with a hardy, sharp-eyed woman. Cassandra, then. 

It would seem that they had finally arrived. With a deep breath, she looked across at the sight of the Chantry standing tall against the mountains. 

It was time for her to cement her role in this story. 

\- - - - - 

She ends up as a healer at the apothecary, in the end. Master Taigen was an affable, kind man who had accepted her offer at face value. His other apprentice, Adan, had given her curious looks when she’d asked to be mentored by him - she had been worried about having her disguise stripped away so soon. Until she realised he was just that grumpy. 

All. The. Time. 

Case in point - 

“Hurry up then, Lucia.” He hovered by her shoulder, his frown stern and unyielding. She’d quickly learnt that he was not a man driven by pride; thank the gods, for if he had been, she would have punched him. “We need to get these poultices ready.” 

“Expecting trouble?” She had a good knowledge of healing, of course. But this world had different plants, different mixtures. “I thought the Conclave was meant to be about peace.” 

Adan snorted. “Yeah, and the ale we serve here isn’t pisswater. Both sides sent their biggest and brightest. Real heavy hitters. I think I saw a couple of Knight-Commanders and Grand Enchanters about.” Adan grunted when she moved aside to let him inspect the mixture. “Don’t think there’s gonna be much talking going on. Not without some tantrums, at least.” He nodded in satisfaction at her work. “Anyway, all this is Taigen’s thinking, not mine. But if the old bastard says to do it, I do it. Not keen on questioning him.” 

She nodded as she began to work on separating the poultices amongst one of the many jars scattered about the workroom. “I understand.” 

They worked in silence, for the most part, breaking it only to ask for ingredients or to check each other’s work. Haven was emptier today, without the troops of the Divine and all the other guests that had filled it to bursting for the past week or so. The day of the Conclave had arrived, and she was already bracing herself for the tragedy that was to come. 

When it did, the force of the blast shook her very bones. 

Bottles and vials fell to the ground, shattering their contents over the floor. She fell into the shelf by the door; the knock to her head left her ears ringing and she allowed herself a quick breath before she rolled over to check on Adan. She closed her eyes in pain when she saw him. 

The healer was half buried under a pile of rubble that was once the roof - his sightless eyes stared back at her. She cursed nastily - it seemed the story was beginning to change to accommodate her. 

“I’m sorry,” she murmured to his limp form, wishing she could have stopped it somehow. Outside, the screams had turned into sounds of fighting, and she got up shakily. She needed to help. 

The description given to her in the story did not truly capture the sight of the Breach in the sky. A tear amongst the clouds swirling around it angrily, leaking green and a suffocating sense of foreboding. She had seen many strange things in her time - but the sight still gave her pause. It was unnatural, she allowed herself to feel. Truly an abomination that needed to be corrected. 

The scream of a child had her turning, her hands already on her daggers. The familiar tug of magic in her stomach made her pause. A last resort, she reminded herself. It was clear this world didn’t think kindly on mages. 

A creature made of swirling green energies was hovering over a boy, perhaps no more than twelve summers old. He was protecting a younger boy - similar features, a few summers younger. She grit her teeth and raced towards them. 

She had to leap off the small hill the apothecary was on to get the right angle to dig her daggers into it; the creature wailed as it turned, searching for her. She jumped off into a roll away from the children - shouting at them to move. They seemed caught in their fear, simply staring at her with wide eyes. She cursed as the wraith bore down on her. 

Despite hating it, fighting came easily to her as she ducked and weaved. When the creature finally dissolved into nothingness, she straightened and looked to wide eyes looking at her in awe. 

“Where are your parents?” The older boy’s face seemed to crumple as his eyes darted to a burning building next to the tavern. Her heart squeezed. “Head for the Chantry building. Run, and stop for nothing. Understand?” When the boy hesitated, she walked over and placed her hands on his shoulder. “You need to protect your brother.” 

That lit a fire in his eyes - one she was pleased to see. “Yes.” From the gates of the village, an awful wailing could be heard. She turned with narrowed eyes. 

“I need to help. But I’ll find you later, if I can.” The boys nodded and began to run towards the only building that was perhaps safe. She hoped it was - there would have been soldiers stationed there, if nowhere else. 

The villagers trying to drive off the demons by the gate were fighting a losing battle. There were a few soldiers amongst them, moving swift and precise. But there were simply too many of the damned things, pouring up from the lake. A smaller version of the Breach - a rift - hovered over the centre of it, and she cursed at yet another deviation. There shouldn’t have been any this close to the village. 

“Go, into the Chantry!” She yelled over the din of metal and shouts. “We’ll get the gates closed and hold it till reinforcements arrive!” A few of the farmers and villagers took her up on it. The rest simply shook their heads grimly as they lifted their makeshift weapons to defend their escape. One was carrying a shovel, she saw with sadness. Gods. 

A rage demon screamed - a harsh, screeching noise - as it brought one of the soldiers down. His comrade cursed and redoubled his efforts, war cries falling from his mouth. She tightened her jaw and jumped in to help, keeping the wraiths off him to cover his back. 

It was a hard battle, as severely outmatched as they were. Two of the civilians fell before the rest of them were shouted back by her and the lone soldier left. It was a natural response to battle and duty; they, who had the skills to fight, would happily bear the weight of it to protect those who did not. Her and the soldier ended up catching their breaths next to each other, as yet another rage demon poured out of the rift. 

“What’s your name, messere?” The soldier panted as he braced his sword and shield once more. “Be a shame to die without knowing who’d be buried next to me.” A grim thought, but a possibility nonetheless. She hoped it would not be so; this was a story she wanted to see through. 

“Lucia,” she spoke, for it was the name she had decided on using upon coming across an overgrown gravestone on her travel up here. The soldier smiled under his helm, a tired and brave thing. 

“Lachlan. It was a pleasure to fight with you, Lucia.” She barely had the time to reply in kind before the man charged towards the demon. Another tug of her magic; Lucia hesitated a moment more. 

(She wanted him to live, now that she knew his name. She could not let him die.) 

Calling forth her talents, the ground around the demon began to shake and tremble. Chunks of dirt began to float up and around it as though being lifted by a ferocious wind - contained destruction as Lachlan slammed it into the eye of the storm. She called for him to move as she gripped her fist. 

The demon didn’t have time to draw breath as the earth slammed into it, tearing through the lava that made up its body. The creature existed for a moment more before disintegrating into ash - leaving behind a wisp of its element and nothing else. Lachlan stared at it in disbelief before turning his eyes to her, wide with realisation. 

“You’re a mage.” She breathed out as he began to back away from her. “I didn’t -” 

“Lachlan…” She pleaded softly, not wanting this to come to blows. If she could only avoid his prejudice, remind him of how she had helped… 

The man shook his head at himself as he finally seemed to come to his senses. “Forgive me. Maker, I - this is all just -” He pinched his brows. “I’m sorry. It doesn’t matter. Not when you were helping.” She relaxed in relief as he lowered his weapons. “Do you know what’s going on? What that thing is?”

She looked at the rift, now quiet and innocuous. It seemed they were safe for the moment. “It’s linked to that thing in the sky.” Lachlan looked up and his face paled with unease. “Something’s gone wrong at the temple; that’s at the center of it all.” 

“Maker, it’s the end of the world.” The metal of his armour clinked as he fell to his knees in prayer. “O Maker, hear my cry -” 

“Lachlan, please.” His name caught his attention, though the fear was clear across his features still. “We are not dead yet, and so we must do everything we can.” The man swallowed and nodded at her words, coming back up to standing as he looked around. “Go to the Chantry. See if you can’t get the soldiers to stand guard here and protect the entrance.” 

“Right, yes.” Lachlan seemed glad for some instruction. As she began to stride up the path towards the temple, he blinked worriedly. “What about you?” 

“I’m going to keep watch over the rift here,” she gestured to where the demons had come from. “But then I’m going up there.” The sky was darkening now; soon Cassandra’s troops will be heading back down this way with the prisoner - the Herald of Andraste. She wanted to be up on the mountain to help where she could. Perhaps even meet up with Solas and Varric. 

“Maker be with you, then.” Lachlan nodded at her, energised by having a clear plan. “And thank you. For helping.” 

She managed a small smile. What else was there to do?

\- - - - -

The route up to the temple was blocked. An avalanche caused by the blast had buried the most straightforward path up; she cursed when she came upon stressed soldiers trying to clear it under the command of their leaders. Makeshift barricades were being put up while others were fighting to keep the demons on the other side; it seemed they planned to hold this position. 

One of the commanders noticed her as she began to reroute. “You! Stop!” She turned to him impatiently, but the commander wasn’t cowed. “You’re Taigen’s apprentice, right? We need help.” He cast his gaze towards where his people had begun leaving the injured, shaded by a gnarled tree. His fidgeting fingers on the pommel of his sword was the only indication of his anxiety; otherwise he was the picture of calm. 

“Where’s Master Taigen?” She didn’t need to ask, since she already knew. Dead with the others at the Conclave, since he’d been headed up there this morning in case fights broke out. She realised she was probably the only skilled healer left in the village, with Adan’s death - a complication to her plans. 

“If he was up there, then he’s probably dead. I’m sorry,” the commander allowed her a moment to mourn, before he continued. “But we need your help now. More of them keep coming down from the mountain and we haven’t heard word from the Seeker and Sister Nightingale yet.” 

“Alright.” She looked longingly at her original destination, but quelled that intent immediately. There will be other opportunities, she reminded herself. Surely when the Herald arrived at the Chantry someone would call for her. She would make the necessary introductions then. 

As she strode towards the wounded, her hands already reaching for the medicine pouches she’d thought to grab before leaving, she cleared her mind of everything except what was in front of her. They needed her full attention, if some of them were to survive. 

She had no idea how much time had passed before she heard the telltale sounds of marching footsteps. She was in the middle of conducting an emergency amputation on a screaming soldier whose leg was beyond saving, so she spared them no thought beyond registering them. It wasn’t until she heard a familiar barking voice saying the word ‘prisoner’ that she stilled. 

A quick glance behind her confirmed her thoughts. Being carried in a litter was a horned woman, her frame folded into itself to fit in the cot. Her wrists had been bound in rope, and the six soldiers carrying her were careful to maneuver her over the thick snow. Cassandra was at the head of the formation, looking thunderous as she set the quick pace towards Haven. 

“Seeker,” she called as the woman passed her by. The warrior turned with surprise, which quickly turned into disgust when she saw what she was holding in her hands. “I am Master Taigen’s apprentice. Am I right to assume he is dead?” The shadowed expression made it clear. She nodded as she turned back to the soldier, who had finally fainted from the pain. The woman who had been holding him down looked positively green as Lucia used a bit of her magic to help her dagger cut through the tibia above where it had seemed to simply crumble to bits amongst flesh. “Adan is also dead. I am your only healer now.”

“I… see.” Cassandra sounded disturbed by the knowledge, no doubt aided by the fact that Lucia was now encasing her hand in fire to cauterise the wound. The smell of burning flesh made everyone save for her cringe. “If I could pull you away…” 

“Yes, you may.” She gently set the rest of the leg on a bundle of clothes to elevate it. “I was going to ask if you needed my help.” The limb she tucked under her arm as she stood. Giving some final instructions to the soldier, she gestured to Cassandra to lead the way. 

The Seeker stared at what was once a foot and bit of calf. “Are you… bringing that with you?” Lucia blinked. 

“I cannot dispose of it here. There will be a pyre at the village later, yes? I’ll add it to the fire there.” Cassandra gaped, and Lucia gestured once again. “We don’t have much more time. A rift has opened right over the frozen lake; the village is being defended only by the last of the men you have stationed there.” 

That kicked the warrior into gear, though there was a strange expression on her face as Lucia fell into step next to her. The soldiers carrying the prisoner had continued ahead, her breaths laboured as they carried the qunari between them. 

Thankfully, the soldiers who had taken over watching the rift were unharmed. “Lady Seeker,” one of them called out gratefully, saluting as they approached. “It’s good to see you.” As Cassandra stopped to listen to a status report, Lucia directed the others to bring the qunari to the dungeons beneath the Chantry. The building itself was packed with the survivors of the attack - a lot of them had managed to escape unharmed, but Lucia could still spot a few missing faces. 

(Adan’s sightless eyes stared back at her from underneath the rubble.) 

“Lucia!” She turned her head as they crossed the threshold of the building, Lachlan grinning at her entrance. “You made it!” 

“Yes,” she answered mildly, letting the soldiers continue without her. “I ended up helping the soldiers near the pass. There were many injured during the blast and the demons that came with it.” 

Lachlan nodded in relief. “Oh, that’s good. For a minute I was worried about the amount of blood on you.” Lucia blinked as she looked down at herself. Oh. 

“How’s it been going here?” She surveyed the room, watching as people huddled together in groups, the tension cloying despite the Chantry sisters’ best attempts at calming them. “Lady Cassandra has returned, finally. Hopefully there’ll be a plan soon.” 

Lachlan exhaled at that. “That would be good. It seems like I am the last of the men under my command. I don’t suppose you saw Commander Cullen while you were up there, did you?” Lucia shook her head. “Pity. I hope he survived. Otherwise it’ll be Rylen as the highest ranking, and I’ll be damned if I listen to a commander still wet behind the ears.”

Both of them shared a grimace at the thought - Lucia, involuntarily - but quickly sobered when Cassandra entered the building with quick, brusque strides. She was a ball of tension, that much was clear, and when she caught Lucia’s gaze she nodded towards the dungeons as she passed. Lucia turned to say goodbye to Lachlan when she noticed the strange face he was giving her. 

“I didn’t want to say anything but,” he blinked when Lucia simply stared at him. “Perhaps I should… take that from you?” The leg. Oh. 

Smiling sheepishly, she handed him the crushed limb - which he took with a good amount of gusto, to his credit - with instructions to burn it. He nodded in understanding as he called for volunteers to begin collecting the dead. 

Lucia descended the stairs to the dungeons, noting the way the temperature dropped to a chill with every step. Inwardly, she ached for the humidity of her true home - 

(Only for a moment.) 

Before settling her step toward the figures at the head of the room. 

“Good. You are here.” The Seeker was staring at the qunari woman, hands already in clamps as she lay motionless on a layer of straw in the middle of the room. Four soldiers stood guard; both of them distrustful as they fidgeted from foot to foot. Lucia eyed them warily as she stopped beside Cassandra. 

“What happened to her?” Lucia could already see the green gleaming in her left palm, crackling with magical energy even in sleep. The woman’s naturally grey skin made it hard to tell if she was otherwise alright, though when she knelt to take her pulse, she found it steady. 

“There was an explosion at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. It caused the Breach in the sky. We do not know how or why, only that everyone in the immediate vicinity is dead. Except for her.” Cassandra sounded frustrated by the lack of information, and Lucia had a feeling the passing of the Divine hadn’t truly hit her yet. “Our scouts report her falling out of a rift, with a woman behind her. Some are suggesting it was Andraste herself.” That part especially ticked the other woman off. Lucia frowned at the scowl on the warrior’s face. “All I know is that the Divine is dead, the temple destroyed and yet  _ she _ -” Venom dripped from her words. “Lives.” 

“Yes, it does seem like an unfortunate situation, doesn’t it?” Lucia couldn’t help but interject, hoping to begin clearing the Herald’s name. “Perhaps there is more afoot here than we understand; this magic is certainly unlike anything I have seen before.” She turned the unconscious woman’s hand over to get a closer look at the mark. The story had explained what it was, but much like the Breach, didn’t truly do it justice. 

Unlike a natural wound, which would separate the skin, the mark hovered just above the palm, becoming more prominent when the fingers curled inwards. It sizzled and cracked and popped, like a fire - but underneath it all, there was a faint thrumming that Lucia couldn’t ignore. Her own magic jumped inside her at the mark’s proximity. That surprised her - perhaps these magics were distant cousins. 

“An apostate helped stabilise the mark.” Cassandra sounded unhappy about this, and her expression seemed to sour even more when she realised who she was talking to. “Can you tell us anything about it?”

Oh, she could indeed. She could tell them everything. 

Instead, Lucia shook her head and set the palm down as she stood, the doors to the dungeon creaking open to reveal a familiar redhead. The Left Hand of the Divine took her rightful position next to the Right Hand, all the more imposing when she pinned Lucia with an icy gaze. Lucia nodded politely in greeting, but the woman quickly dismissed her in favour of discussing something quietly with Cassandra. 

At her feet, the qunari made a rumbling noise that only Lucia heard. She knelt again, this time listening to her breath and hearing it rattle in her lungs. Oh, this wouldn’t do at all. 

Casting a quick glance to ensure nobody was watching, Lucia reached inside herself as she placed her hand over the woman’s chest. In response, her blood thrummed, her talent running down her arm to where her skin met the other’s. Murmuring the chant her clan shaman had taught her under her breath, she focused her energy past the skin into the woman’s organs. Like a tool, it sought for the root of the problem, finding it easily in a tear in the inner walls. Probably from inhaling too much debris, she reasoned, using her magic to urge it to knit back together. Another look around allowed her to rid the lungs of impurities completely; the qunari coughed when she did this, spitting phlegm out as she shifted under the intrusion. 

Pulling back, Lucia felt a wave of nausea overwhelm her, her magic struggling to return to the place of comfort inside her body. It took a few more breaths until she could focus without vomiting, and she found herself looking into confused brown eyes. 

“Hello,” she greeted as gently as she could as everyone else kicked into gear, having noticed her wake as well. Lucia was about to comfort the qunari when Cassandra and Leliana took over to begin the interrogation. Instead, Lucia was only able to help the woman sit up before she excused herself to the edge of the room. 

Herah Adaar, as she was called, did not recall the events at the temple. Nor did she recognise the mark. She was a mage, and looked stricken when she was informed of the Divine’s death. When Cassandra finally urged her to stand up so she could show Herah the Breach, Lucia jumped into action and helped steady her on the other side. 

The shocked inhale Herah did when she finally saw the swirling vortex of energy in the sky seemed to convince Cassandra more than anything else. 

“The Breach could swallow the whole world,” she said gravely, looking up at Herah’s stricken face as the mage stared up at the sky. “Will you help us stop it?” 

“Of course.” Herah didn’t even hesitate. “If this mark can help, simply lead the way.”

“Thank you.” The stern expression the warrior wore cracked at the willingness Herah showed. “Come. We must meet Leliana at the forward camp.” 

“Aren’t you coming with us?” Lucia blinked at suddenly being addressed by the qunari. Realising that the Seeker was looking at her as well, Lucia cleared her throat as she shrugged. 

“I suppose I could. From what I can see, the sisters are already tending to the wounded in the initial attack here. I would like to see this thing up close.” Or simply become closer to the Herald. This was proving a lot easier than she thought. “I will follow and lend you my strength where I can.” 

“You are welcome.” Cassandra eyed Lucia’s daggers curiously. “You have been a help so far.” And with a final nod, they were off.

They made their way through the village, some of the survivors and the soldiers who’d already made it back staring angrily at Herah. The qunari seemed to shrink under their gaze, the mark in her hand sparking as if in reaction to her thoughts. Cassandra informed them of the mood amongst the crowd with some degree of sympathy. Herah seemed to take it into stride, however, simply focusing on the walk ahead of them. Lucia found herself patting the woman’s arm in comfort. 

When they came to the gates, Lucia bid them slow down, wary of the rift on the other side. 

“Perhaps she can attempt to close the rift here before we move forward.” Herah tilted her head in confusion when she heard the term, and Lucia simply reached for the doors in lieu of an explanation. As Herah stared at the green light shimmering over the lake, her mark twitched violently. The qunari screamed in pain as her entire arm seemed to spasm, and Lucia watched with some fascination as the rift seemed to pulse before demonic screams filled the air. 

The handful of soldiers that had been stationed outside scrambled to draw their weapons; Lachlan was once again amongst them, his face grim as before. 

“Stay back,” Cassandra called out to Herah, but Lucia was already dashing into battle. Unlike before, they had the numbers to stand against this wave of enemies. But it was still a near thing, as Lucia saw a shade make its way towards the prone mage. 

Lucia was about to step in when she saw Herah finally lift her head with a determined expression, scrabbling behind her for a staff that had somehow been left in the mad mess of people leaving earlier that morning for the Conclave. With a heave of effort, she swung the blunt weapon in a wide arc that had the shade retreating with a hiss. Lucia managed to glimpse the woman freeze the creature in ice; assured that Herah could take care of herself, Lucia threw herself back into the fight with her daggers, throwing one into the back of a wraith that had Cassandra pinned down. 

The demons were dispatched in quick order, and Lucia went to collect her dagger as Cassandra marched up to Herah to demand her to drop her weapons. Smart girl, Lucia thought, as she refused to leave herself unarmed with demons about. Cassandra could not expect everyone to simply bend to her will, impressive though it may be. The times ahead would be challenging enough without her allowing her stubbornness to dig in now. 

“Fine. I suppose you have a point. I cannot protect you effectively by myself.” The Seeker met Lucia’s eyes, and she took it as a sign to step in. 

“Hold your mark out to the rift. See if you can close it.” Herah looked skeptical at the command, but she seemed to understand her life hinged on whether she could do this or not. Holding her hand up, her brows furrowed in concentration, and everyone held their breath in anticipation of something to happen. 

When nothing did, Herah pulled her hand back and stared at it distractedly. “I feel… a tug. But -” 

“Try again.” Lucia gripped her wrist loosely as she held it back up towards the rift. “Allow the tug to run through to your palm, where the mark is. Let it catch the rift itself, and -” She saw the way Herah’s eyes lit up as she managed to do it. “ _ Pull _ .” 

Everyone gasped when the mark flickered to life and shot a beam towards the center of the rift, seeming to wrestle with it as Herah grunted with the effort. But finally -  _ finally _ \- she yanked her arm back, sealing the rift shut with the motion. 

There was a moment of awed silence from the soldiers, and then cheers of celebration as they saw the impossible happen. Lucia smiled at Herah, who was looking at her mark again - only this time, with awe.

“I… did that?” 

“It seems like you might be the only one who  _ can _ .” Lucia stepped away as Cassandra came to stand by them, her relief clear in her features. 

“We cannot linger. Every moment we lose, more demons come out of the rifts and risk overwhelming our forces.” Still, Herah seemed comforted by the brutish clap to her shoulder as the warrior turned on her heel to head back up the path. 

“Is she always like that?” Herah murmured, seemingly to herself as she jerked when Lucia answered. 

“I wish I could tell you she grows on you, but.” Her shrug seemed to ease the last of Herah’s worries. The future Inquisitor smiled at her, and Lucia’s stomach twisted itself into knots. She hoped she could preserve that smile, for this was only the beginning. 

**Author's Note:**

> A short prologue explaining the mechanics of the traveller and contextualising the world a little. I play fast and loose with canon, though I try to adhere to it when it presents interesting challenges. 
> 
> No Leliana in this chapter, but she makes an appearance in the next one. Please note the slow-burn tag; I have over 104k words written and waiting to be posted so far and they have not yet kissed for real. So. 
> 
> Will update weekly until I run out of chapters, I guess. Subscribe if you wanna get updated when I do.


End file.
